


Crystallized Veins and Distorted Faces

by Leebee023



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: (that may change, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Borderlands: Borderlands 1, Borderlands: Borderlands 2, Borderlands: Borderlands 3, CEO Rhys (Borderlands), Canonical Character Death, Character Development, Family, Found Family, Good Parent Handsome Jack (Borderlands), Handsome Jack (Borderlands) Being an Asshole, Handsome Jack Survives, Jack doesn't go by jack anymore, Not a romance story, Original Character-centric, Out of Character, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tags May Change, and actually faces the pain he inflicted, because I'm a sucker for dads who better themselves for their kids, but like he's a softie around kids, handsome jack doesn't die, he still an asshole, he's grown as a person, im sorry, jack is written kind of out of character ngl, takes place during the third game, that makes Jack a better person, theres a sickly teenager, these tags are a mess, this is strictly a family story, we love character growth, who knows)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:08:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28167513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leebee023/pseuds/Leebee023
Summary: Jack survives the fight with the Vault hunter, unbeknownst to them, and goes off the grid. He intends to continue to stay that way, especially since he's trying to move past that part of his life. That's how it goes until he find a sickly kid in an alleyway that flips his life upside down. He makes a decision to save a kid's life that could ultimately end his own.
Relationships: Athena/Janey Springs, Handsome Jack (Borderlands) & Original Character(s), Sir Hammerlock/Wainwright Jakobs, Timothy Lawrence/Mad Moxxi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. A busy night

**Author's Note:**

> (that summery was absolutely terrible and I'm so sorry that you had to read it with your own eyeballs.) This idea has been eating my brain for the last three months, so I hope you guys are ready for a big ol' story, cause I've got a lot of plans. I hope you enjoy!! If you would like to leave a comment in order to let me know how well you like the story, that would be fantastic!! [If you don't that's cool too :)]

Well shit on a shit stick roasting over a shit fire. John did not want to deal with this today. The older man had been strolling away from a very good bounty that had given him about as many aches and pains as credits. He was very satisfied with the outcome, even if he was limping and groaning with each step. Having enough credits to buy food and moonshine was good enough for him. So when he heard the yells and cries coming from the alleyway, he was simply going to ignore it. That was the case until he heard a young voice speaking with such spitting anger that he had to at least take a look. 

He limped down the alleyway, still covered in blood, his long brown and grey locks falling in front of his distorted face. It took John only a few steps to see a young boy, maybe only 12 or 13 being beaten halfway to a pulp by a group of unruly and, downright gross, bandits. The place had been covered with them after the COV had risen, and John would rather eat his own bloody intestines than bother with another fucking bandit. But then again, he’d never run into them beating a kid up before. He was actually considering just leaving the child to fend for himself as he rubbed at the (mostly) healed wound at his side. He was tired, hungry, and just annoyed at every single living thing in the vicinity. So he kind of just wanted to turn around and go home to his sad, little bed, in his sad, ratch infested apartment that he didn’t spend any actual time in. Good old Johnny would have probably done so if he hadn’t seen what happened next. 

The bandit laughed at the boy’s spitting words and kicked him hard in the stomach, once, twice, and then a third time. The boy dry heaved before puking up a vibrant purple. The kid whined a bit trying to catch his breath between his vomits. John felt his entire body clench before unholstering his gun and shooting the bandit kicking the boy right in the back of the head without warning. Assholes who kick kids until they vomit don’t get fucking warnings. The other 3 bandits turned towards him and began to charge at him. Killing them was so easy. He shot the first to charge him in the kneecaps, and stabbed the other in the neck with his large hunting knife. The bandit gurgled and tried to speak before John dropped him and shot the last four times square in the chest. He rounded his way back to the first bandit which was trying to crawl his way to safety before the long haired man began to stomp on his head. He kept stomping well after the bandit was dead. 

John took a deep inhale before wiping the bandit brains off of the bottom of the sole of his boot. He holstered his gun and put his knife back into the sheath that fit snugly against his bruised ribs. He turned around to find the boy passed out in his own vomit. He cringed, that was fucking nasty. John sighed before he limped over and picked the boy up. The kid was frail, with knobby knees and thin wrists. He had auburn hair and a deep olive skin tone. All of his features seemed sharp but very young as well. Damn how old was this kid, John had first thought he was in his very early teens, but looking at him now he seemed to be way younger. John sighed before he began to shuffle him and the boy to his apartment. The sun had only started to set on Prometha when he had found the kid, so by the time he reached the main highway, the streets and night sky were dark, the only light being the one from the street lamps and the occasional fire. 

The older man held his breath as he held the kid, he stank to a high fucking heaven holy shit. When was the last time the boy cleaned himself? Goddamn, he stank to a high heaven. John was sure he didn’t smell that great either, as he was covered in guts, brains, blood and his own sweat so he didn’t bitch out loud. Not that he would hear him, the smaller of the two was completely out. The explosions from the distance didn’t even phase him, there wasn’t a single twitch. John would think he was dead if it weren't for the fact that one, the kid was drooling on him, and two he could feel him breathing. 

By the time the both of them had reached the apartment, it was completely dark. He quickly realized he wasn’t able to reach for his keys with the kid in his arms. He groaned in aggravation before setting the kid softly on the ground, digging in his pockets for his keys. He grabbed them and shoved the familiar gold key into the lock, trying to be quick and unlock the door so as to not stink up the hallway with both of their stenches. John’s apartment building might be a fucking mess but he actually liked his neighbors so stinking up the hallway wasn’t really something he wanted to do. He opened the door quickly and efficiently without much hassle, before swiftly picking the kid up and walking through the door. 

“Oh fuck-” John said as he heard the quick thump from accidentally hitting the kid’s head against the door way. He stopped for a quick moment to check and make sure the boy was okay. The boy continued to drool and the only evidence of the hit was a soft bump on the boy's forehead. It sort of fit with the rest of the kid’s bumps, bruises, and cuts so John wasn’t too worried about it. Still, He gave him a soft rub on the head and held his head to ensure he wouldn’t hit him again. 

John closed the door with his left foot, gently shutting it instead of slamming it like he normally would have done. He moved to the makeshift bed/couch in the middle of the room setting the boy down on top of it. He untangled himself from the boy who practically fell onto the not so plush cushion. 

“Figures…” John whispered to himself as he turned around, briefly thinking about how the kid’s getting good sleep when he hasn’t slept more than five hours in the last two weeks. 

He cracked his back before grunting when his bruised ribs screamed at him in protest from the movement. The older man then moved to turn on the overhead light, he winced when it flickered on and halfway blinded him. He blinked the stars away from his eyes before looking back to the boy. He looked a lot worse now that he could actually see him. The boy was in cut shorts that were about two sizes too big for him held to his hips with a lousy shoe string. The, not so bright anymore, blue hoodie he was wearing was very large and practically hung off of him like a shawl. It was also caked in blood and vomit and dirt. His shoes were barely holding it together, there were too many tears in the canvas and the left sole looked like it had been glued on one too many times and there were several small holes in the right. John shook his head as he noticed the mismatched socks, only psychopaths mismatch their socks. One was a long red and white striped on his right and a short black on his left. 

John only chuckled softly to himself before grabbing a rag from the bathroom and wetting it to clean up the boy. He glanced up to his own reflection for just a moment. He saw a distorted face with his graying shoulder length hair falling into the distortion mask. He paused for a moment before grabbing the rubber band on the sink and tying it up into a sad ponytail. John stared at the mask for a second or two until his stomach churned from the thought of the face underneath and he quickly walked from the bathroom into the living room. 

He was met with a loving punch which, oh so wonderfully, hit him in his jaw. He was quite surprised by the powerful hit the kid had landed on him. When the next fist came barreling towards him however, he grabbed it with ease. The kid was smart going for surprise, but he wasn’t as agile nor strong as John was. The kid grunted and yelled as John held his wrists together. 

He continued to struggle and even bit the older man, trying to get away. “Jesus fuck- Would you stop?! I’m trying to help you, brat.” The kid continued to persist anyways. 

“Fuck you, you faceless freak!” The voice surprised John, it wasn’t that of a kid, but of an actual teen. Deeper than what a 10 year old could speak.

“Let me go!” John just clenched the wrists tighter between his hands and sighed. 

“Please…” That got his attention and he looked at the kid who had nothing but fear written in his expression. Ah fuck. 

John let his wrists go and put his hands up. “I’m not gonna hurt you, kid. I swear. I was just trying to help you.”

The boy looked shocked that the older man let him go and made no move to leave. He instead looked at John curiously. The older man shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. 

“I wasn’t gonna just leave you to bleed and die in your own vomit after I saved you. I’m not that big of a dick.”

The boy continued to look at him the same uncomfortable way so John cleared his throat and made his way to the kitchen, picking up the wet rag on his way. He opened the first cupboard he saw and grabbed the broth from inside. He opened the refrigerator and grabbed the chicken he had gotten from Ms. Norris in apartment 4-f. God, he loved that old coot. He threw the cooked chicken on the counter and grabbed a pot from underneath the sink. He began to pour the both into it when he felt a presence next to him. John turned to find the boy staring intently at the pot. The boy glanced up at him and the pot twice before speaking. 

“What are you doing?” 

John gestured at the chicken nonchalantly, “I’m hungry. Making food.” it was John’s turn to look at the boy curiously this time, “Why do you want some?”

The boy looked at the pot and nodded slightly and god dammit if that didn’t soften the older man’s cold dead heart for just a minute. 

He sighed before reaching into the same cupboard and grabbing some seasonings and rice to have with the soup. John figured he might as well give the kid a nice meal before he runs off to god knows where. He then turned to him and shoved the wet rag towards him. 

The boy gingerly grabbed it with two fingers before glancing up to John with a weird expression, “What the hell do you want me to do with this?” 

John rolled his eyes before pointing at his vomit covered sweater, “Clean yourself up, or you’re not getting any food. I'll let you borrow a tshirt or something but man, you stink something horrible.” 

The boy looked at him incredulously, “You stink too, asshole!” 

“Yeah, but I own this place. I’m allowed to stink it up.” John's distorted voice came off as dickish but honestly he couldn’t really care less. He was hungry as fuck and the kid was distracting him from making food. 

The boy grumbled something before heading towards the bathroom. John added the ingredients to the soups, along with some potatoes he found lying in a drawer that he forgot he had. The potatoes were beginning to sprout growths, but he just peeled them off. He then peeled the potatoes and added them into the boiling broth. He stared at the pot, watching it boil before remembering his promise to give the kid a shirt. He headed to his drawers and grabbed the first clean sweatshirt he found. It was a plain dark grey with nothing written on it. 

John walked over to the bathroom door and knocked twice. He listened to a quiet shuffling sound before the door opened to reveal the kid, still in the crusty hoodie but otherwise clean. His bruises and cuts really needed to be tended but John wasn’t about to push his luck. He handed the kid the sweatshirt before heading back to the kitchen to finish cooking. About ten minutes of watching the soup cook and putting the rice on the stove, the kid walked out in the new sweatshirt and a clean face. John also noticed the kid had taken his shoes off. Well, at least he was comfy. He continued to stare at the soup, not really having much else to do when the kid stood next to him. 

“So…”

John raised an eyebrow and looked at him. 

“So.” John replied stiffly. God, he hasn’t had a legitimate conversation with someone since… who knows when. 

“What’s your name? Cause I’ve kinda been calling you mister faceless.”

John stared at him for a moment before laughing a bit, “It’s John.”

“Sick, I'm Orion.” The boy smiled at him a little and it was then that John realized that the kid had bright blue eyes. Just like tiny moonstones. Just like A-

John cleared his throat and moved to stir the soup. “So why were you getting beat to a pulp, kid?” 

“Orion. And I told the bandits that their god king and queen could suck my ass.” John snorted, the kid was funny. “Seriously though, they wouldn’t shut up about them. It’s super fucking annoying.” 

John nodded in agreement before turning around to look at the kid again, “So why were you vomiting purple? You eat something nasty?” 

Orion frowned and looked away wrapping his arms around himself. He shut his mouth tightly and the older man opened the cupboard above the fridge and grabbed two bowls and spoons. He pondered for a minute before grabbing two smaller bowls as well and then filled the smaller bowels with rice and soup in the others. He placed the bowls and spoons onto the island with his two old rickety chairs. John motioned for Orion to sit, which the kid did, staring the food down like a hawk. 

John chuckled, “You can eat, ya know? I’m not gonna force you to say grace or anything.” 

The kid laughed, “I’m waiting for you to sit down, so we can eat together.”

John felt like he’d been punched in his stomach, “Oh. Huh. Okay. Let me go grab some drinks for us then.” 

He filled a mug with some water for the boy before grabbing a beer from the fridge for himself. He made his way to the island and sat in front of Orion. The kid immediately started shoveling the food into his mouth, it’d be kind of funny if it wasn’t as concerning. The kid had obviously not had an actual meal in a long time, and was probably not gonna have another like it soon. So the older man let the boy inhale the meal. John took a much slower pace however, his ribs protesting if he moved or ate too quickly. 

The both of them were eating quietly until Orion spoke up, “I’ve got an aliment.” 

John furrowed his brows in confusion, “Huh?” 

“I’m sick. You asked earlier why I was puking up purple. I’m-” The boy paused and took in a shaky pause, “I’ve got eridium poisoning.” 

John stopped eating and looked at the boy very solemnly. Fuck. Of course this kid did. Eridium poisoning was untreatable and would cause the crystallization of the body. Depending on the degree of the poisoning the kid would either die very soon or not for a long time, but he’ll turn into a living eridium crystal. 

“That-” John let out a sharp breath, “That sucks major skag ass.”

“Yeah.. It does.” Orion laughed, “What about you? Why the weird distort mask?” 

“Oh kid.” John shook his head “That is a very long story, One that I’ll never tell.” 

“Why?” The boy tilted his head, a few strands of his hair flying in front of his blue eyes, concealing them slightly. 

“Cause there’s a reason behind every secret, Orion. You’ll find that out the hard way one day.” 

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The first thing Jack noticed was the throbbing pain in his head, sharp and persistent. The next was the aches, they were everywhere. From his toes to his hairline. After that it was how sticky he was, with sweat and blood. It was also hot as fuck. Jack breathed hard through his nostrils before slowly prying his eyes to see that stupid fucking Pandorian sun. God he hates this fucking planet so much. He moved to sit up but the moment he tried his body seized in pain. He looked down to see a very slowly, but surely, healing bullet wound gaping in his stomach. 

Fucking. Lilith. Next time he saw her he was going to rip her arms off and shove them up her ass. Or better yet, start with the fingers and begin by making her plead and beg him to stop. Oh yeah, he was gonna kill that bitch. Right after he got his injured ass up. Jack moved his arm up to touch his teleporter, it was the only thing that saved his ass this time. If he hadn't had it, he would have been dead by now. The teleporter was supposed to teleport him and give him a quick heal, enough to keep him alive and breathing, if he were to reach critical condition during battle. Because Jack was a fucking genius, he always always had a contingency plan set in place. This way the bandits would think his body had just digitized like a normal corpse, so he could get a clean getaway and plan his revenge. Did he mention that he was a genius, because duh. He’s fucking Handsome Jack, And Handsome Jack always gets what he wants. And right now he wants to sit the fuck up. Jack groaned as he sat up quickly. Oh _fuck_ that hurt. 

He looked around to realize that he was in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Well, He thought as he stood up holding his wound gently, Time to set up camp and kill some fucking bandits. He smiled to himself, Yeah this was gonna be a lot of fun. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“John? Jooohn??” A hand waved in front of John’s face and he blinked, “Anyone home?”

“Huh? Sorry yeah, what’d you say Kid?” John rubbed his face roughly. 

“I asked what you wanted me to do with these dishes.” John looked up to see that the kid had gathered all of their dishes and was looking worried at him.

“Just set them in the sink, I’ll do them after I get some sleep.” 

The boy nodded and did as John told him. 

John set up the makeshift bed, nice and neat before stealing a few blankets and pillows from the closet inside the bathroom, along with a few towels. He laid them on the ground to make a mattress and began to lay down, ready to fall asleep. God, he was so tired. 

“Um, what are you doing?” Orion said staring down where John was on the floor. 

“I’m going to play poker with the ratchlings in the floorboards, what the hell does it look like I'm doing? I’m going to bed.” Orion made a face before pointing to the bed. 

“No, I’ll take the floor. You live here, you should sleep in your own bed.” 

John sighed in irritation, “You're going to take the bed, because I said so. Plus you’re probably in a lot of stomach pain because you got beat half to death remember? Being on the floor won’t help with that.” 

The teen grunted. “But-”

“But nothing. Go to bed, kid.”

John took off his boots, jacket, gun holster, and knife sheath. Normally he’d take his mask off, but he definitely didn’t want to explain THAT to the kid so he left it on and pulled the ratty blanket on top of him. The kid shut off the lights and laid down grumbling and muttering. 

He shifted for a while before settling down. John slowly drifted off in unconsciousness when he heard a whisper. 

“Night john.” 

He grunted and let sleep overcome him completely.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John sat up quickly, ears ringing and sweat dripping down his face. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears and his skin was prickled, the hairs on his body raised. He felt a cold chill go through his body as he looked around the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter is going to be more John centered, and just going to more exposition. I've got some big plans for this story so strap in guys, it's gonna be a long one.

Her black locks hung in front of her face like wires. She was bleeding and crying. She wailed and shook with such vigor. John kept trying to run to her. Running but with no avail. He couldn’t reach her. She screamed. For him. For anyone to help. The wires in her back began to dig further into her skin and clawed at them like a wild animal, sobbing in pain. John began to sprint as she got further and further away from him. 

“Please! Daddy, Please help me!” She screamed from about a yard away. John tried yelling back, to comfort her. To say something. But nothing would come out. 

A silhouette of a man appeared behind her and grabbed her by the arm. John felt his feet finally move onto the ground as he sprinted towards her and he yelled her name as the man began to drag her away, leaving blood and slag in a trail. John ran as quickly as he could, his chest heaving harsh and painful breaths as he got closer to his daughter. 

The man stopped and turned around to look at him. John stopped in his tracks when he saw his own face. His own ugly, psychotic, grin. His twisted self turned towards his daughter and pulled out a pistol. He raised towards the girl. She was crying and begging. 

John shouted as he saw himself pull the trigger. A loud shot rang out and-

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

John sat up quickly, ears ringing and sweat dripping down his face. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears and his skin was prickled, the hairs on his body raised. He felt a cold chill go through his body as he looked around the room. He noticed the makeshift bed was empty and the kid was nowhere to be seen. John groaned as he stood up, his back popping in three different places. He made his way around the apartment checking the bathroom and kitchen to see if Orion was just hanging around somewhere. He opened the bathroom and found his sweatshirt neatly folded and set on the sink. He made a face at the gray cloth. That meant that Orion was probably walking around in a dirty sweatshirt. Gross. But maybe the kid had another one stashed away. John shook his head slightly, that was probably unlikely with how the kid was dressed. He looked homeless. He was going to offer to wash the clothes for him but he guessed he forgot. He didn’t even take a shower last night. 

John looked at himself in the mirror. His face was distorted and he could feel the sweat and dirt on his real face from underneath the mask. His clothes were disgusting, still covered with the blood from yesterday's work. He shut the door before beginning to peel the clothes off. He was grimy and nasty. All he wanted was to be clean and sleep the rest of the week away. His mind wandered back to the nightmare he had had earlier and his mouth turned sour. John no longer wanted to go back to sleep. He hated that fucking nightmare. It had been haunting his dreams for the past 5 years. Nonstop, reminding him of every goddamn thing he lost. Of who he lost. Of his mistakes. It was probably the reason he brought that kid home. 

John ignored that thought and turned off the bathroom light before removing his mask. He stepped into the shower and turned the faucet on. He tested the water, making sure it was hot enough before turning the shower head on. The spray hit his head after a loud gurgle. John sighed in relief and with the mask off, his real voice came out. He made sure not to make any more noises, not wanting to say anything, in worry of someone else hearing. Not that anyone was around to hear, but then again the walls were thin. And anyone could be listening. John scrubbed violently at his skin, trying to get the dirt and sweat off of him. The soap he was using was cheap and had a smell that reminded him vaguely of a hospital. He couldn’t remember where he’d gotten it. It was a white little bar that was a light cream color. He lathered his hair up with the small bottle of travel sized shampoo that he had gotten from the last hotel that he’d visited. He enjoyed the nice spray against his tense muscles as he continued to clean his hair. God, he wanted a massage so bad. If he missed anything, it was massages. He could literally feel the water running over the knots in his shoulders. He was just beginning to relax when the water turned ice cold and he jumped in surprise. He let out a little shout before quickly rinsing his hair and turning off the shower. 

John stepped out, closing the curtain behind his back and grabbing a pale pink towel. He began drying off when it hit him. He forgot about applying his scar lotion. He made sure to set up a time to apply the medicated lotion every two months. He was supposed to do it every month, but looking at his own face would send him into a panic attack. So he made sure to do it every two months instead. But that meant he had to sit around the apartment for the whole day so the scar could breath and the lotion could set in properly. If he were to put his mask on top of it, the scar would be in extreme pain and begin to crack in the creases. And trust me, it hurts like a motherfucker. If he didn’t put lotion on today, He’d have to wait a whole more month. Considering the fact that he was leaving tomorrow for another job on Pandora. He shuddered even thinking about that hellhole for a planet. 

But that meant he would be sitting with a dried, cracking, scar under his already suffocating mask. John sat on the toilet and contemplated the choices. He could either wait and be in an uncomfortable pain for a whole month, on top of the already uncomfortable conditions he’ll be under. Also dealing with the high chance that his scar would become infected and he’d get sick on his mission. Or, he could suck it up and deal with it like a man. John took in a shaky breath before wrapping the towel around his waist. He then stood up, closing his eyes tightly, and making his way, blindly, to the mirror. 

John opened his eyes to look at the sink, moving towards one of the drawers to open it. He pulled out his medicinal cream and set it on the counter. John breathed in once again before casting his eyes back to the mirror. And there it was. His face. His left eye was a milky white and his right a vibrant blue. The scar was a lighter teal in the center and the edges were crusted and red from the suffocation of the mask. Distortion didn’t breathe well. His complexion on his face was a stark difference from the rest of his body. It was a pale white, like a ghost, he joked to himself. He had large age lines and creases from where he had grinned too much in the past and furrow lines next to his brows. The scar was an upside down u shape, forever reminding him of the one mistake that cost him everything. His life, his daughter. His family. 

John felt several tears run down his face as he just stared at himself. No, at this monster. There was something poetic about your own demons being yourself. Something people would have written about in the olden days and would be philosophized today. He hated that new age writing bullshit, anyways. John unscrewed the cap on his lotion and squeezed a little bit out of the tube. He then began to apply it onto the brand. Making sure to lather it completely, over every ridge and crease. It stung to touch in some places, and in others there was no feeling at all. The doctors had told him before that there was no possible way to fix the nerve endings. That once the feeling was gone, he’d never get it back. 

John took a step back to look at himself again, just to make sure the entire scar was covered but when he looked it was his face he saw. It was  _ his.  _ His grinning, ugly face. John jumped back, chest heaving and heart pumping erratically. He opened the bathroom door and rushed out, wet hair swinging in his face as he sobbed. John sat on the couch for what felt like hours. He simply sat there and shook and cried. He hated that face. His face. He’d liked it once, had such pride in it. But now when he looked, all he saw was a psychotic man who killed his own daughter. His baby girl. He’d loved her more than anything in this whole world, and he had killed her. 

When John had finally calmed down, it was long past dark, the sun having set hours before. He was exhausted and in pain. He got up from his makeshift bed to put some pants on, but before doing so he made sure his windows were covered like normal. He was satisfied to find the windows covered with the ratter cloths that he called curtains as he took off his now damp towel and stepped into a pair of boxers. As he began to slip on a black t shirt, his stomach grumbled impatiently. 

He sighed before walking into the semi clean kitchen. He hadn’t noticed earlier that it had been cleaned, through his exhaustion. The dishes were set on the drying rack, and the leftovers had been stocked into the fridge. The floor looked like it had been swept, which was strange because John didn’t own a broom. He silently thanked the kid as he got out some soup from the night before. He ate at the kitchen island quietly, pondering on his mission tomorrow. 

He had gotten a message from his local bounty board, saying that there was an immediate need for help on Pandora. The message stated that they would be paid with a large compensation of credits and more, And hey, How was he going to say no to that? It was interesting though, there were only the coordinates for the location, and no actual signature for the name. Just a promise of lots of money. John wasn’t an idiot. He knew that this was likely a set up for some bad deal, that he probably wouldn’t get paid for, but he didn’t actually give a skags shit, he’d either get paid for doing this, or he wouldn’t and he’d kill everyone involved. That simple. 

John finished his soup, along with a slice of bread before he grabbed the moonshine from underneath the sink. He took a big swig and winced at the familiar burn down his throat. He knew if he got shitfaced, he would have that ducking dream again tonight, so he drank. And he drank. And he drank some more. He was definitely going to be hungover in the morning, but Drunk John didn't really give a skag’s ass about what Sober John thought of him. He limped his way to the bathroom, grabbing his distortion mask so it could be ready for him to grab in the morning, before he made his way to his bed. He flopped onto it like a dead fish. Drunkenly moving around, legs like jelly and not cooperating with him as he tried to wrap his blankets around him. Once he was comfortable he tossed the mask on the ground beside his bed and slipped into a blank sleep state. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John awoke to a pounding migraine, one that he felt from his temples, to the base of the back of his neck. He groaned very quietly, before he opened his eyes. He blinked the tiredness from his eyes and felt his stomach churn. God he fucking hated himself, John must’ve drunk an entire bottle of moonshine, and was really  _ really _ feeling it today. He sat in bed for thirty minutes before sitting up to put his mask on, after all of these years of wearing one, he always felt naked when he had it off of him. He moved his locks from his neck as he set the little circular device in the center of it. It connected to the little device he had implanted into himself years beforehand. It let out a shrill beep a few seconds later and pressed the center button, letting a relaxed breath after the warm veil covered his face. He let out a soft hum and was pleased to hear the warped voice resonate in his ears. 

The older man rubbed his eye, his hands warping behind the distortion, making them look strange and foreign. John shoved the feeling of nausea down the pit of his stomach. He inhaled a quick breath before shoving himself upward off the bed and onto his own feet. He swayed for a moment, trying to regain his balance and to stop his head from spinning in three different directions. When he finally got his mind to settle he stumbled his way to the kitchen to get some medicine. He grabbed the pill bottle that was stashed behind the moonshine and took a swig from the old cup of coffee he had thrown in the fridge two weeks ago. Was it gross? Yes, did he actually care? Not even a little. 

He knew he had to sober up before getting ready for his new job, so he ate a slice of bread with a side of pain meds and stale coffee. John eventually got off of his ass and started packing his bag for the trip. Because fuck it was going to be long one. 

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By the time John had gotten out of the house and clambered into his sad excuse for a spaceship, it was already midday. He coughed a bit as he got into the driver's seat and set the coordinates for Pandora. Fuck he was exhausted. He sat back and closed his eyes, the autopilot shot the spaceship into space and he sat there for a moment. Just resting his eyes. When the beeping from the console then screeched through the quiet and unsettling air, only then did he pry his eyes to look at the insistent beep. The console was alerting him that the ship was now well charged and ready for hyper speed. He pressed a few buttons and waited. 

The hyper speed shot him out, colors and lights passing him alike to beams. Just hot energy he couldn’t feel. John felt the whole spaceship shake and heard it creak sadly as it stopped. More so halted, a few thousand yards away from Pandora. John looked at the planet from his old creaky ship, a ship with too many rust spots and tracks of blood permanently engraved into the metal slabs. He wondered for a second if even stepping onto the planet was worth it. Probably not, and the thought of him dying on the job didn’t even phase him. He knew that Pandora was the most likely place for him to die. It would be poetic to be killed there twice. And hell, John kind of liked poetry, so fuck it. Why not? 

He stood up, his knees protesting at him and grabbed his Jacobs shotgun. It was an ugly thing, he’d definitely seen better looking guns, sleeker ones. But this could kill most of his enemies in one shot so he grabbed it with much ease. He also grabbed a sniper to digitize and put away. You never know when you’ll need one. He made sure to pick up a few grenades from a random drawer he had open. He shoved them into his bag and threw the sack over his shoulder. He opened the drop pod and stepped inside shutting the door. He pressed the drop button and turned around as the pod dropped from the ship and began to spiral to the planet below. 

John let his jaw drop as he saw a startled, but familiar face staring at him from the drop pod seat. 

“Orion??”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please if you have any questions please leave a comment and ask. Any feedback is appreciated. Hope you enjoyed!!! :)


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